


Our Hell Is a Good Life

by wantthepharaohs



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wantthepharaohs/pseuds/wantthepharaohs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He'd have nightmares when she was there, too, but they were different.  The adrenaline would course through him, leaving him feeling wrung out and dizzy, but he'd anchor himself in her.  He'd turn to watch how the lights from the fish tank turned threw watery shadows on his face, would focus his sleep-heavy limbs on the heat radiating from her into the sheets.  James would listen to Shepard breathe beside him, deep and even in her sleep, until his own breaths evened out and his heartbeat slowed.  He'd drop back off to sleep, the bad dreams gone for the night.  Alone, it's more of a gamble.  Funny how just having someone there with you makes everything easier.  It's the most primal, basic thing he can think of, this simple comfort of a warm body, the amount darkness you can chase away just by inviting another in.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Hell Is a Good Life

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS CURRENTLY A PLACEHOLDER VERSION
> 
> More will be added throughout the day and the full fic should be live by 8 p.m. CST on November 14, 2012
> 
> Created for the 2012 Mass Effect Big Bang!
> 
> The extraordinary [stellarsparrow](http://stellarsparrow.tumblr.com) created some beautiful artwork for this fic, which you can see [here](http://stellarsparrow.tumblr.com/post/35552824372/art-based-on-our-hell-is-a-good-life-by). Imogen is an amazing artist and so much heart shows through in her work. She was a delight to have as a Big Bang partner and the quality of her contributions greatly eclipse my own meager ones.
> 
> Many thanks to [hlwim](http://hlwim.tumblr.com) for her astounding skills as a beta. She was a tremendous asset to getting this off the ground, and I'm very thankful to have worked with her!
> 
> We are all so grateful for AlishaTorn taking the time to organize the Big Bang. Fandom projects are extraordinarily time consuming, and I'm thankful for what her work allowed us to create and the friendships it allowed me to make.
> 
> Lastly, the title of this fic is a shamelessly stolen song lyric from the song "Our Hell" by Emily Haines & the Soft Skeleton. This fic was brought into being through repeated listens of her 2006 album "Knives Don't Have Your Back," which is a phenomenal album you should all go out and [purchase at your earliest convenience](http://www.amazon.com/Knives-Dont-Have-Your-Back/dp/B009DGL0J2/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1352787833&sr=8-3&keywords=knives+don%27t+have+your+back).

He didn't see her for months after the war. First there was the problem of getting the Normandy back to Earth. Once they'd finally limped home, Shepard had been recovered but was still in a coma. No one knew how long she'd be out, or hell, even if she'd wake up. There was so much rebuilding to be done, and the Alliance needed him. They put the N7 candidates in charge of recovery projects all over the galaxy, mostly securing colonies, and after a few months the let him know he'd earned the rank.  
Shepard awoke from her coma somewhere in the middle of those months. He'd sent her a message telling her he always knew she'd pull through, but he couldn't get away from recovery effort for a trip to Vancouver. His work in the colonies was vital, fixing logistics and supply lines that would help the Alliance thrive again. He made sure people had food to eat, could reach their loved ones, could live in safety again. It was good work.  
He thinks of her often, worried about her recovery. Doc sends reports pretty frequently. She'd been banged up when they found her on the Citadel. A Hades Canon had melted a good portion of her armor, leaving her skin badly burned. She lost an extraordinary amount of blood. Falling debris had crushed her legs and her gun arm. It wasn't an easy road back, but she was making progress. The skin grafts took, the bones set. Doc said she was walking again. The Cerberus implants helped, made her strong.  
And he misses her. He misses the way her strength and determination always made him work harder. He misses laughing with her, misses making her laugh. He misses having her to talk to. He spends his nights in a modular colony apartment, quiet and spare. The work is physically exhausting, and he's tired when he crawls into bed in the evenings. He drifts off to sleep easy most nights, but more often than he'd care to admit he's jolted awake by nightmares in the early hours of the morning. Most of the time it’s a fairly standard Reaper nightmare factory: Banshees screaming, the sizzle of an incendiary grenade on Cannibal skin, the tortured howl of the rachni queen. Sometimes he's back with his squad, fighting the collectors, watching them go down one by one. Every now and then he dreams of his father coming at him with bared fists.  
He'd have nightmares when she was there, too, but they were different. James would listen to Shepard breathe beside him, deep and even in her sleep, and it would steady him. The adrenaline would course through him, leaving him feeling wrung out and dizzy, but he'd anchor himself in her. He'd turn to watch how the lights from the fish tank turned threw watery shadows on his face, would focus his sleep-heavy limbs on the heat radiating from her into the sheets. Watching her at peace, his heartbeat would slow, his own breath become even, too. He'd drop back off to sleep, and the dreams wouldn't come again that night.  
Alone, it's more of a gamble. Funny how just having someone there with you makes everything easier. It's the most primal, basic thing he can think of, this simple comfort of a warm body, the amount darkness you can chase away just by inviting another in.  
The Alliance schedules his N7 induction: a fancy, formal ceremony with a reception following. After all the trauma the galaxy when through in the Reaper War, any occasion is a good occasion for a little pomp and circumstance. He forwards her the invitation, and he's ecstatic when she says she'll come.  
Vancouver is blessedly no longer on fire when he arrives for the ceremony. The skyline is different, but the city is bustling again. Full of life instead of destruction.  
The Alliance has rebuilt a brand new headquarters, and the ceremony takes place in a beautifully furnished ballroom, classic, with plush red carpets and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. James feels a little stuffed into his formal dress uniform, just too big to be polished, but when one of his fellow inductees cat calls him, he starts to feel a little better.  
He's on stage the first time he sees Shepard. Their eyes lock as the N7 medallion is pinned to his chest. Shepard is smiling. She looks proud of him, happy for him.  
She's easy to find at the reception. She's swarmed by the guests, each of them wanting to offer their personal thanks to the savior of the galaxy. She's gracious with them, comfortable in a way he's rarely seen her be with so many clamoring for her attention.  
Living without the fate of the galaxy on your shoulders will change a person, it seems.  
"Dance with me, Lola," he pleads when he finally reaches her through the crowd.  
She smiles at him, warm and genuine, and shakes her head with a laugh. "Everyone knows I can't dance."  
"I'll teach you. Come on, it's my party." He takes her hand, pulls her out of the chair and towards the dance floor. The world seems to be ticking by in a dim haze, low lights, the buzz from drinks, easy music. Her hands seem remarkably small as he holds it lightly in his left, while her other sits on the small of his back. He pulls her close and directs her steps with a firm hand. Different from their first dance, the kind that wouldn't leave him thrown on the floor with a bloody nose—so he hoped. She's not so good at following his lead (that's the most unsurprising thing that's ever happened to him), and he can feel stiffness in her still-recovering body. So he does nothing elaborate, just moving the two of them in slow circles around the dance floor.  
It has been a long time since she's been close to him.  
The conversation is easy. He tells her about his work in the colonies, and she catches him up on life in Vancouver. She's been working for the Alliance on travel issues, improving fuel efficiency and engine performance to make long distance travel more feasible as the Mass Relays are repaired. It's behind a desk so she complains, but at least it's keeping her sharp engineer's brain engaged. She's thankful for that.  
When the party is over, Shepard invites him to stay at her apartment instead of bunking in the soldier barracks. It's an easy choice, the hospitality of a friend over a communal bathroom and six to a room bunk beds, so he goes with her.  
Alone in her apartment, she turns oddly shy. They'd been alone together so often, but that was all in a different world. Some relationships, he thinks, are created purely through circumstance, like a conversation on an elevator. When the circumstances change, maybe the relationship can't exist anymore.  
Shepard gives him a quick tour and says she's going to bed.  
"The extra bedroom is right here. If you need anything, I'm right down the hall. You know where the kitchen is, help yourself to anything." She steps lightly on the wood floor paneling the hallway, towards her bedroom. "Bathroom's here," she says, tapping the door as she passes. He watches her step into her dark bedroom without so much as a glance back towards him or a word goodbye.  
He slings his duffle bag down in a corner of the room and turns on the light. The room is nicely furnished, a dresser, full bed covered in a red quilt, bedside table with one of those lamps with the bendy heads. Nice, but it feels uninhabited, like he's the first person to stay there.  
He sits on the bed and thinks about the fight they had and how insignificant it was in the grand scheme of what they had been given. The Reapers were gone, really gone. If there was ever a time to believe in endless possibilities, the time is now.  
The door creaks as it is pushed open, wood whispering softly as it catches on the fibers of the carpet.  
There are no curtains on her windows, no screens to dim the lights of the city at night. Blue and orange lights dot the bare skin of James's chest, race across the muscles of his thighs, lights of cars whizzing past, of billboards, of streetlamps, reminiscent of stars but lacking their quiet peace.  
Bhairavi is sitting up in bed, wrapped in a thick purple blanket, haloed by the light behind her.  
He shrugs at her. A bare gesture, palms up, hands empty. His mouth twists into a half smile. "What if I don't want to be in the extra bedroom?"  
"Come here," she whispers. And he does. He walks toward her bed, climbs in with her, and pulls her close to his chest.  
This time when they kiss, she's unguarded. There's nothing frantic in it, no fear. Her skin is warm to the touch as he explores it, first with his hands, then his mouth. There's no need to rush—they have all the time in the world.  
All the time.  
"Shepard… I've missed you," he whispers, pulling her closer.  
"James?"  
"Yeah, Lo?"  
She turns to face him, laying across his chest, skin to skin. "What if you stayed this time? What if we tried this out, really tried it?"  
He looks at her with a smile. "You and me?"  
"Yeah. Am I too fucked up for that?"  
"You did drive a Mako through a Mass Relay once."  
She laughed softly in the dark.  
"But I'm willing to give it a shot," James said tentatively. "I've missed you. Thought about you during while I was gone. Like you said, once you've had somebody… it's hard to go back."  
She kissed him again, lazy and sweet. "We can do this, I really think we can. I'm going to try so hard."  
"Nothing's beaten you yet, Lola."  
Yeah, they were going to get along okay.  
Neither of them had nightmares that night.


End file.
